


rakehell

by thegreatpumpkin



Series: these many years [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Reimbodiment fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatpumpkin/pseuds/thegreatpumpkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This time around, things will be different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rakehell

**Author's Note:**

> So, awhile back I did [this headcanon meme.](http://brazenbells.tumblr.com/post/137761378102/29-and-30-for-glorfindelecthelion-please-if) And while it's been my headcanon for a long time that this universe's Ecthelion was unfaithful, I hadn't fully decided until then whether Glorfindel was aware of it or not.
> 
> And then I _couldn't stop thinking about it_ because it made me so sad. So here, have a fix-it fic for a headcanon that I inflicted upon myself.

When Glorfindel came home, Ecthelion was waiting for him, stretched out diagonally across the bed as if he owned the place. He was reading a letter, but when Glorfindel appeared in the doorway he set it aside, tipping his head back so his dark curls spilled over the edge of the bed, regarding Glorfindel with an upside-down grin.

Glorfindel did not seem surprised to see him, which was a little disappointing, but then again Glorfindel knew him better than he did Glorfindel right now. Memory was tricky that way, but Ecthelion couldn't say he minded the rediscovery.

What he did mind was how Glorfindel sighed and leaned against the doorframe, rather a distance away. He did not look upset, precisely, not like a bearer of bad news—but he was in a serious mood, which was no good. "Ecthelion," he said, "we need to talk."

Ecthelion was young enough and confident enough not to be filled with dread at the words. "Come over here and we'll talk all you like."

Glorfindel didn't smile, but his eyes creased at the corners, the way they did when he was amused. "If I come over there, my mouth will be otherwise occupied in short order." Ecthelion laughed delightedly, and he realized what he'd said. "I meant with _kissing_ you, really now—"

"Of course you did."

Glorfindel started to defend himself, then bit it back, laughing. "Even at this distance you can lure me off the trail. Stop, now. Let me get this out." Recalling his errand made him serious again. "Do you—how much do you remember, from before?"

There was something in his tone that made Ecthelion roll over and sit up. "Bits and pieces. More feelings than events. I don't remember—the end, at all. Or a long time before it, I think." This time when he cocked his head, indicating the space beside him, Glorfindel did come. He folded his long legs beneath him to sit cross-legged on the coverlet, facing Ecthelion, so Ecthelion did the same. Even with both of them seated, he was a fair bit shorter than Glorfindel, but that had its compensations—he thought warmly of sleeping here a few nights ago, entirely wrapped up in Glorfindel’s long limbs, his head tucked beneath Glorfindel’s chin.

Glorfindel was clearly thinking of something else. He folded his hands together, searching for words, and Ecthelion felt a sudden splinter of concern work its way into his contentment. He sat forward, searching his still-vague memory.

"I'm forgetting something important, you mean. Did we—part ways?" Glorfindel did not seem like the type to take advantage of someone forgetting a breakup, though, and it wasn't guilt that sobered his expression. And if Glorfindel had been the one to end it, why would he have—

"No. You only left me by dying, and I came after like the stubborn fool I've always been." Glorfindel had enough distance from that loss now to smile, at least, but it was short-lived. “I—last time—there were a lot of things we didn’t talk about. I had wanted you for so long before we came together that I was afraid to say anything that might upset the balance once we did. And you…”

“I can guess.” Ecthelion had enough self-awareness to fill in the blank. He had, no doubt, done exactly what he tried to do just now—preempt any attempts at serious conversation with sex—or what he had done to no small number of lovers in the past, avoid defining the relationship so that he might feel free to move on if something better happened along. It was difficult in present circumstances to imagine that he’d thought he could do better than _Glorfindel_ , but he supposed they had a different dynamic then.

Glorfindel smiled again, rueful. “I don’t mean to cast aspersions on...that is, I know things were different. You were different, and so was I. But that’s the crux of the matter.” He looked down at his hands instead of looking at Ecthelion. “I _am_ different, and I...won’t tolerate things as they were before. I need to be clear about that.”

Ecthelion leaned in, his own hands resting on his knees. “Tell me.”

Glorfindel took a long breath and then sighed it out again, but he seemed steadier at the end of it, and raised his eyes again to Ecthelion’s. “There were...others, before. I don’t know whether you—he—was aware that I knew about them. I honestly don’t even know whether he cared. I put up with it then because he always came back to me, and I...at the time that was enough.”

Until now, almost all the revelations about Ecthelion’s first life had been—if not always happy—at least validating. He had been brave, talented, reasonably well-liked; he had died tragically, but heroically, and not in vain. And until now, he’d thought the worst wrong he’d ever intentionally done to someone was making up cutting verses about people who displeased him, which—to be honest—was nothing he intended to do differently the second time around.

This was something else. He knew a truth when he heard it, especially from Glorfindel (some things about Glorfindel he knew in his bones, even as his mind struggled with the details). He could not remember this, though, and it shamed him. What he remembered of Glorfindel was warmth, and sunlight, and joy. He was certain he had been in love—was nearly there again, he thought, or still. It was all hard to separate. But somewhere, mired in all that, was the forgotten fact of what he had done, despite how he felt. He wanted to wonder, _how could I have?_ But there was an uncomfortable part of him that knew perfectly well how.

“I took you for granted,” he said at last, though it was deeply inadequate. “Eru, Glorfindel, I’m so sorry. If I had remembered, I would have…” He didn’t know what he would have done. Apologized? Told Glorfindel he was the only one worth remembering?

Glorfindel started a little at the apology, and Ecthelion realized with surprise that whatever hard feelings he still had were turned inward, not at Ecthelion. “No, don’t—I’m not asking you to be sorry. It was you, I suppose, but it wasn’t... _this_ you. I’m not trying to hold you to account for what happened then.”

Glorfindel tipped his head back and ran his hands through his hair in frustration, though again, it seemed to be with himself. Ecthelion tried not to be distracted by the urge to bury his face against that golden hair as it tumbled forward over Glorfindel’s shoulders, forcing his eyes back to Glorfindel’s upturned face as he went on. “I want this, Ecthelion. I want it more than I can possibly articulate. I want to start fresh with you. It’s just...” He dropped his hands and looked down at Ecthelion. “The great tragedy of you and I is that we’re never quite on the same page. Now that you’re young and eager and idealistic, I’m old and bitter and tired.”

“You never did know yourself,” Ecthelion said, though he wasn’t sure where that certainty came from. “Old, perhaps, though it’s all relative. Bitter, though—Glorfindel, there is nothing bitter about you. You take such easy joy in everything, I would think you in your first life if I didn’t know better.” Glorfindel shook his head, so Ecthelion tried teasing him instead. “As for tired, you certainly hid it well enough the other night when—”

“Stop.” 

“Three times, though, at your age! I suppose it’s no wonder you’re tired, have you been spending all your strength on me?” Ecthelion grinned as Glorfindel groaned in embarrassment, passing a hand over his slightly pink face. Well, at least Glorfindel could still take a bit of teasing. More seriously, Ecthelion said, “What are you really saying? Do you mean you...look at me now and only see what happened then? I could not blame you, but I swear, I will do my best to make up for it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Glorfindel said, softly. “I am sincere when I say that I see you as...separate, in a way. You are him, and not him. What I _mean_ is that I don’t want something...casual, at this point in my life. And you are so young, you deserve more time to...to see what’s out there, before—” He came to an abrupt stop, likely because he suddenly had a lapful of grinning Ecthelion. “What?”

“What do you suppose I was up to before you came?”

“Sorry?” Glorfindel frowned at him, trying halfheartedly to interpose a little distance between them, but he didn’t seem all that committed to the cause.

Ecthelion leaned in, mischief in his expression. “Did I give the impression of an untrained virgin? I’ll be honest, it will bruise my ego a little if you say yes, but let’s be truthful with one another.”

It startled a laugh out of Glorfindel. “Your ego could _use_ a little bruising, but no. That was definitely not the impression I came away with.” He was tense in the way that said he still wanted to talk, but his hands came to rest lightly against Ecthelion’s lower back.

Pleased, Ecthelion allowed himself the indulgence of sliding his own hands into Glorfindel’s hair. “I assure you, I am well-appraised of what’s _out there_. This may shock you, old man, but I even have a reputation as a bit of a rakehell.”

Glorfindel was trying hard not to be tempted, Ecthelion could see, but just as clearly losing the fight. “You? Surely not.” He let himself be drawn in for a moment, then ducked back before Ecthelion could ease him into a kiss. “No, no, do go on. I’m very interested how you think this reputation is going to _help_ you make your case.”

Ecthelion was aware of how hopelessly besotted he was about to sound, and how clichéd, but for once he didn’t mind. He leaned in again, tucking his face against the curve of Glorfindel’s neck; after a moment, when he only rested there and did not try anything provocative, Glorfindel’s arms came up around him in an embrace. “It’s not unearned, but I’ve never lied to anyone I pursued. When my partners were concurrent and not consecutive, they all knew about it. My _point_ is that I’ve seen enough to know how...valuable this is. I’ve seen enough to know what I want, and not bringing anyone else to my bed seems an extremely reasonable price to pay for it.”

Glorfindel did not respond right away, but that was no great worry; his breaths were slow and easy, and they fitted together comfortably in the silence, Ecthelion hemmed in by Glorfindel’s arms.

At last, Glorfindel came to a decision. “If you have second thoughts—”

“I won’t.”

“That,” Glorfindel said quietly, “is your youth speaking. Listen.”

It was no great hardship, curled into Glorfindel’s warmth, to keep his counsel and let Glorfindel talk.

“We all have second thoughts. If you do— _when_ you do—bring them up. I’ll do the same. And if someday it turns out that what you want is no longer this, _tell me so_. I won’t say it won’t hurt, but a single clean strike heals far better than a thousand little cuts over the same spot.”

“ _Glorfindel,_ ” Ecthelion breathed against his neck, tightening his arms, aching with sympathy.

“Promise me,” said Glorfindel patiently, turning his head to speak against Ecthelion’s temple. “It happens. Romances end, sometimes, it doesn’t mean anyone has failed. But if you can’t give me all, don’t give me half. Promise me, and I will promise you the same.”

Ecthelion sat back, but only so that he could look Glorfindel in the face. “I promise.” Glorfindel started to speak, but Ecthelion forestalled him. “No, I know, I didn’t stop and give it a good long consideration like you wanted me to, but I don’t take it lightly. And there is another promise I want from you, if you would.”

Glorfindel gave him a long look, lifting a hand to cup his jaw. “Tell me.”

“If I start to remind you of—him—me—you know what I mean. If,” he paused and smiled just slightly, though he was in earnest, “you start to get an unpleasant sense of deja-vu...will you tell me? Even if nothing’s wrong? Whatever road I took before...I don’t wish to set foot on it again.”

Glorfindel’s expression eased and tightened at the same time, as if he had been dealt a blow, but a very tender one. “You can’t help reminding me, but only the good things. The things I fell in love with.” He pulled Ecthelion back to him, resting their foreheads together. “But...yes. I promise, I will tell you if anything gives me pause.”

Ecthelion stayed there, eyes closed, letting the moment settle down into his bones, warming him from the inside out. He was still himself, though. When he lifted his head again, there was a glint of some other kind of warmth in his eyes. “If that’s settled, I have some other business I’d like to bring to the floor.”

Glorfindel started to ask, then caught his look and groaned playfully. “Another sign of your youth. You really are going to wear me out if this is any indication of your usual libido.” 

Ecthelion did as he’d been longing to earlier, taking gentle fistfuls of Glorfindel’s hair, letting it slide through his fingers as he pulled Glorfindel into a kiss. “You can hardly blame me. Your hair is down, how am I to resist you?”

That made Glorfindel laugh far more than a simple teasing comment should. Ecthelion cocked his head curiously, though he kept his hands where they were. “If anything, that shows how different you are from before. You never liked my hair!”

“I always liked your hair,” Ecthelion growled back, and he had enough memory to know that was true, even if his former self would never have said so.

His former self would never have said a lot of things.

There was time to say them now, though; there was time to say everything now, and he would. Over and over again, until Glorfindel forgot there ever had been another Ecthelion, one who hadn’t loved him well enough.


End file.
